Hephzibah
by lillelouis
Summary: Hunters hunting, hunting witches hunting hunters. Because sometimes I miss nastiness and creature features. There be coarse language, mind you. Set S 5.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Rated T for superfluous use of the word 'fuck' in various grammatical settings.

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><p><span>Hephzibah<span>

Chapter 1

Dean was absolutely furious. His brother was being raised in the air by a psychotic _fucking_ witch, and forced immobile as she sat on the ceiling like a mounted moose with her rotten teeth and fucking _disgusting_ saliva. Bobby had warned them about her. She was more dangerous than any they'd faced so far, mostly on account of her ridiculous lack of civilized manners. Just as powerful as some of the heavy hitters they'd crossed once or twice, this one was sadistic and arcane on top. She'd gone miles beyond slaughtering bunnies for spells, and taken to using humans instead.

The abandoned church they were in now bore witness to the dozens she'd slaughtered in just the few weeks she had been there. Dean wasn't even really surprised no one took any fucking notice, what with the apocalypse and all. Three hurricanes had rolled through this area in the last two months.

He cursed when he got up and tried to aim his colt, listening to his brother's frantic choking gurgles. His vision was blurring and a vile smell was spreading through the room. He aimed high, a little higher than he'd liked, and fired. The bullet missed his brother by a hair and burrowed deep into Hephzibah's shoulder.

He heard the joint snapping out of place. She released Sam with a roar, and he crumbled to the ground in a boneless pile. Dean could hear him openly crying and gagging in panic, and panicked himself over just what the fuck the bitch had done that could scare his ginormous little brother to tears seconds after nabbing him. The only people still alive were screaming and crying for him to save them much like Sam, but all he saw was Hephzibah's rotten face staring at him in rage. She moved like a flash. She wasn't even bleeding from her wound, and she moved like nobody's business.

Faster than a Wendigo, and somehow….graceful.

In a blink she was towering over him with bony fingers clamped around his esophagus, forcing his jaws apart. She opened her mouth slowly. Black-tinged, layered teeth quivered until they all pointed outwards like a shark's. Her tongue was quivering and a slow trickle of saliva dripped from it. He felt his jaw snap out of place when he reflexively tried to close his mouth, because something horribly wrong was oozing down his throat. It crept into him until it reached his stomach where the reaction was instantaneous.

Bile bubbled in protest to the foreign substance. It made sweat spring from every pore in his body and the shivers started. The witnesses were all screaming like they were having limbs chopped off. His muscles began to seize and a tingle on every single joint. He felt gristle warm and almost vibrate as joints felt like being dislocated from the stress his body was putting itself under. As if every single cell was fighting against whatever the fuck she'd just put in his mouth. Hephzibah smiled. Leered and raised him closer to her leathered face.

This was the gnarly, old woman from every night terror he'd ever had. Her face was a mask of distorted wrinkles, and her shark-eyes were bulged and fixed on him. His sweat must have slicked her grip because suddenly he was falling. He hit the floor in a heap, unable to stop the paralyzing convulsions caused by her saliva; completely unable to exercise even the slightest level of control over his body, but able to hear relatively clearly.

He heard a loud-ass shot and saw her face convulse. He heard Bobby shout at her in foreign words over what he assumed was a cell on speaker, and saw Rufus leap to assist him.

He felt hands on his face, but the feel of skin against his own was like fire. His back curled and he gurgled-_moaned_ in the back of his throat. Suddenly his clothes felt like scalding oil. Melting his skin and disfiguring him worse than he'd been in hell. More hands. Something ice cold poured down his wide open mouth. He felt like his skull was splitting in half. His jaws were disjointed way beyond their normal width and his head was pounding. When the cold substance rolled deep into his stomach new convulsions began.

Starting in his intestines and rolling through him. Up his abdomen and esophagus, until finally reaching his throat, and spewing out his mouth. Again and again it seemed to revolt. Pouring from him with breathtaking cramps and convulsions. Suffocating him until he was on the brink of unconsciousness. And then more cold liquid was forced into him. This time he struggled. He buckled, not even feeling the damages from his previous convulsions.

Simply wanting to escape the pain in any way possible. Someone besides him was screaming. He knew it wasn't himself only because the screaming continued straight through his regurgitations. He was being raised from the floor by two, strong hands. Being spoken to in a demanding voice. Telling him to _get it out! Keep throwing up! Get it the hell out! Dean! Get it out now!_ He could feel it hitting the floor from the way it slicked his hands. It was warm after its visit to his stomach.

His hands skated around in the slippery vomit, but every time he thought he'd hit the floor completely, someone held him up. _C'mon, kid!_ The voice kept demanding until there was nothing left to expel. When all that left his slimy lips was white foam, the arms pulled him away and placed him on his side. Minutes passed. The person left him. He heard frightened voices and cries. But the thing that scared him the very most, the thing that made his skin crawl, were the sounds coming from somewhere to his left.

Bobby was shouting for Rufus, and someone else was… wheezing. Not like a snake. Not like any creature Dean had ever had the displeasure of hearing. But from someone nearly mute from screaming who just couldn't stop. He just couldn't stop screaming even though it hurt Dean's throat just listening to it. Even though it hurt just from the fear alone. Someone who was screaming Dean's name over and over like they were being ripped apart from the inside.

Someone sounding horribly like Sam.

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><p>TBC<p>

AN: This is a re-vamp of an old one from SNV so it should be pretty painless :)


	2. Chapter 2

More ickiness! Wuhu!

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

The bleary daylight flashed behind the trees, lining the road. He was in his car. He recognized the grooves in the otherwise smooth leather. He recognized the smell and the deep sense of comfort that instinctively followed. Sun was warming his left side and his right knee was cramping. Of these things he was aware, and despite all those small comforts he still felt more confused than ever. His head was pounding and his jaw hurt like it never had before, but at least it wasn't locked in a soundless scream anymore. Like he'd tried to swallow a rodent. That was a relief at least. He was on his back. He supposed Sam or Bobby was driving – no wait, Bobby was in a chair. Supposed it was someone else he mildly trusted in any chance. He figured the big bad, they had obviously just faced, was ash and they were heading back to their hotel.

His eyes felt grainy and his head heavy. When he sat up, a shiver ran through him along with a bout of vertigo and a pushy throb behind his right eye. "Rufus?" His voice was hoarse to the point of rasping. His jaw-joints hurt. The old hunter glanced back and immediately pulled the car over on the shoulder of the road. "Where the Hell's Sam?" Dean looked around in the large compartment, but couldn't see his brother in it. He suddenly remembered. Hephzibah. A witch mentioned by name in the leather-bound Grimoire in Bobby's panic-room/library.

"He's in the trunk," Rufus replied.

Dean shook himself and stared at the old friend in shock. "What?"

"Dean there's something you need to know about 'im."

"What?" The inquiry was made still in point to Rufus' statement rather than general shock.

"That bitch back there bit 'im."

"What's wrong with him? Why's he in the trunk?" _Why would you need to lock him in the trunk?_ He was wounded, not dangerous.

"Come on out, Dean," Behind them a large school bus pulled over with someone who was obviously a hunter behind the wheel, Freddy-something. The second the engine cut off thumps and shouts sounded from the impala's trunk compartment.

Dean spent a second contemplating how much he distrusted Freddy before he turned back to the noise. He looked at it like he didn't know what he was looking at. The rear wheels bounced ever so slightly when a thump got aggressive enough. Freddy got out of the bus with a group of curious spectators peeking out the windows. "Who're they?"

"The victims who survived. We're gonna find a hospital and dump 'em," Freddy answered as he approached the trunk and pulled out a thick needle.

"What the hell's that?" Dean tapped Rufus' arm. Frantic thumps sounded from the trunk, matching his head and made everything feel like it was moving too fast.

"It's a strong sedative. We figured we might need some of this shit to deal with whatever the fuck's going on with _him_," Freddy said and pointed at the trunk.

"And just who the _fuck_ do you think you are?" A panicked scream interrupted him along with more thumps. "Rufus, man, what the Hell's going on?" Dean wasn't sure he wanted the trunk to open, wasn't sure he wanted to know. Definitely not sure what he'd see.

"Sam got bit," Rufus supplied while he, as well, pulled out a vicious looking needle. A shotgun was tethered over his shoulder for easy access, Dean suddenly noticed.

He was having trouble grasping the scenario. "By what?" Pounding head not helping. A scream melted into a muffled roar from the trunk, unlike that a human would make. The back wheels bounced again when Sam kicked out.

"Hephzibah," Rufus answered with a backward glance at the victims, all of whom were staring at the three hunters. "The bitch took a chunk outta him before I could catch up."

"Her bite wasn't infectious, only her weird voodoo-spit, right?" Dean looked from Rufus to the stranger. "Right?"

"Kinda' hard to get one without the other, son."

Dean's jaw clenched. "You know what I mean-"

"It had to enter the blood-stream, yeah. Well it did."

"Not sure _I_ know what that means," Freddy inserted, in what Dean suspected was an attempt at comic relief. "It's just a sedative, man."

Another roar that melted into a scream that vibrated the trunk top. "Shit…" Dean decided it didn't matter. He was being convinced pretty fucking fast.

"Regardless. We need to get you back to the safe house and treat ya," Rufus declared and made ready to open the trunk with a weary glance at his _pal_.

"Step back," he added with a stern glare at Dean who moved into position behind him and his needle full of _fucking sedatives_.

The trunk lid opened and chaos ensued.

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><p>He saw her moving. Too damn fast. She was like a wraith. He was having real trouble imagining her as ever being human. Whatever she had once been, there was no humanity left in her. Pain shot through his throat when her teeth sank into it. Her crooked eyeteeth gnashed on his tense muscles as if biting into a steak. The pain was unbearable and made him jerk like he was being electrocuted. Pain coursed through his skin from the shoulder and out. His arms tensed and went rigid from the shock almost instantly, tensing inwards.<p>

He closed his eyes and did the only thing he could think of. He called for Dean. Over and over as she roughly jerked him off the ground by a grip on his shoulder. She had chomped down and was lifting him into the air by nothing but her teeth. A scream ripped out of his throat when she finally unlocked her jaw and _grabbed_ his shoulder instead. He opened his eyes despite the fear denying that the situation was actually unfolding.

When he did, he stared right into her eyes. Greedy, grey, full-moon like eyes that seemed to try and swallow him whole. Morphed features that somehow triggered a primordial fight or flight instinct inside him. Except he could do neither. He could just hang there while he waited for his brother, picking himself up off the floor after the violent push Hephzibah had given him. Wait for Freddy or Rufus to fight their way through the ghouls that guarded her skeletal garden.

She looked into his eyes with a curious tilt of her head and a smile. Her mouth like paper and black, tar-like saliva oozing out between rotted teeth. She raised his arm to a joint-popping angle in order to tilt his head back and he might've cried out. She leaned so close he could smell her putrid breath, and he was pretty _sure_ he cried out then. For a moment he feared she might try to kiss him. What she actually did was worse. She opened her mouth and dribbled saliva into his mouth. One drop at the time.

He chocked and jerked back, but her grip on his arm was too strong. She leaned in till her lips barely grazed his and one of her hands was buried in his hair. She felt warm. Her tongue jutted out and grazed his. It felt slick, and the recognition made him gag almost instantly. Her saliva tasted like a wound of Dean's had once smelled. Sick. Yellow pus dripping. Only the stuff pouring into his throat wasn't yellow. It was pitch black. He chocked as more of it crawled down his throat and esophagus. It hit his stomach and the reaction was violent and instantaneous.

Convulsions started with mild tremors. Bile rose, but most likely wouldn't be enough to force the sick back out. He heard a deafening shot, and felt her jerk back only to be lifted higher into the air before getting dropped. He hit the old, marble floor with a thud that pushed his air out and some of the nasty. He realized that his head had hit first when a splitting headache joined the upchucking. He felt the sick inside him boiling into his system before something ice cold was forced into his mouth.

His nose and mouth was covered whilst someone waited for him to swallow. He did and felt tears spring to his eyes. Deep sobs started when fear became the prevalent emotion. He found himself utterly terrified for no explicable reason. Something very, very bad was happening inside him, and it reminded him of Ruby. He was recognizing the cold liquid as ipecac, but knew it was too late. The substance was already in his damn bloodstream, almost like an addict getting his first hit after years. Only this wasn't demon blood, he was sure of that.

Convulsions in his diaphragm were trying to force it out. Sadly, the rational part of his mind which realized this was rapidly being overrun by his reptilian one.

His back arched when a violent pain shot through him. He felt his muscles stretch. Someone had hooked onto them and was pulling. His bones shifted, ribs first. He heard the crack from one of them breaking. His chest seized. His breath became chopped sobs. Tears were streaming from his eyes and someone was frantically calling his name. Telling him to spit it out. Ordering him like John used to when Sam was sick.

It didn't work. Nothing would. A scream ripped from his slimy throat. It sounded more like a hoarse gurgle. He hated it. It reminded him of the Wendigo in Colorado. Like a monster luring pray closer. He felt an ever-present rage boil to the surface. He was going to rip the bitch apart and make sure she never hurt another living soul again. Suddenly the feeling of his body expanding, changed to him feeling like the air was becoming pressurized.

Someone was sitting on his chest, holding him down.

Something nicked his neck and only added to the anger. A shot, he realized. _Someone was fucking drugging him_.

Why were people pricking him with needles? _Let me go_. He'd leave if they just let him. _Away_. The pressure on his chest increased and was followed by another pinprick. If they'd just let him, he'd go the fuck away and never bother anyone again. He knew he was gibbering out loud, but had no more control of his mouth than he did the rest of his body. Panic was making cold sweat break out all over. It was making tears stream in a steady flow from his eyes even though coherent thought became more and more difficult.

He lashed out with whimpers for mercy, intermixed with frantic curses at whoever was holding him down.

He couldn't feel anymore, he then realized. Couldn't stop what was happening. Suddenly it felt like a switch clicking on. Suddenly, for a second, his mind was clear. The witch had poisoned him. Her toxin was coursing through his bloodstream along with all the other crap already coursing through him. His heart was pounding. Freddy–whom Dean had already openly admitted to not liking–and Rufus were holding him down while the last vestiges of temporary (possibly permanent) insanity died down.

Twitching. Jerking movements. Shallow breaths. Freddy, the guy he'd never met before, talking to him in a soothing voice like Sam was a baby that needed pacifying. Like they'd saved him already and this was just hysteria. He then realized the drugs were for _their_ protection. He wasn't himself. _Sam_ was gone. Going deeper and deeper into a void he'd most likely never escape. He felt one last tremor coursing through him before something else entirely took over.

And then…darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When he woke up, it was dark. Only the sound of a big-ass engine could be heard. The smell of herbs and gun oil, inhaled. Scratchy felt under his chin. If he didn't know any better he'd have guessed he was locked in the trunk of the impala. His eyes opened with a flinch and suddenly the events of the day returned. Dean. Rufus. Freddy. The innocent victims of a deranged witch. _Hephzibah_. Her hoarse chuckle echoed for a brief second in the dark, cramped space he was in.

Then it was like a shot of adrenalin. He wanted out. He needed out. _DEAN._ He wasn't sure it was his own voice or even a real word that escaped him. He began pounding the lid frantically. His breath was coming fast and shallow and he felt like a bunny in a trap. Every heartbeat was pumping the toxin in his system around faster. He needed out. _Why the fuck can't they see that!_ The car slowed down and instantly the panic became almost unbearable. _What is taking them so fucking LONG!_

They needed to stop and fix him _now_ before the toxin had a chance to work. _Open the fucking lid, Dean!_ He was scratching at everything and probably ripping his fingertips. A nail flayed off, but he didn't notice. _Can't breathe, too hot._ He was punching and kicking at the sides of the trunk and at the lid. _Need to get out. Needtogetoutgottagetoutnonononono. Get out! NOW!_ A roar billowed out of his mouth and bounced around in the small compartment. A sound he'd never thought himself capable of making.

Someone spoke outside. _Shit! Nonononono. No, Dean._ He kept punching and writhing in the cramped space until he heard a key scratch the lock. He froze. Like every muscle in him coiled on its own accord. The top opened and it felt like an explosion. Suddenly the denial of fresh air was like someone physically choking him.

He pushed off with his hands and tackled someone perched in front of the trunk with a needle.

Whoever it was, was down. One to his right flinched back and moved in front of another, standing right behind him. "_SAM!_" The yell sounded like and echo at the bottom of a well. Where the hell was Dean? Who were _they_? Their faces were blurred and morphed. They all looked as ugly as Hephzibah, staring at him and laughing. Rage at all of the _fucking bastards_ made him lunge out. He knocked two men over and heard frightened screams behind them.

A deep pinprick in his neck was quickly brushed off. He ripped out the needle and snapped it before lunging at the slumped figure beneath him. Another scream from one of the many, blurred figures a few feet back. They moved like a flock of sparrows. Like one solid mass. _Ghouls!_ He wasn't sure what his reasons for attacking them without a weapon were. _The filthy bastards_. Wasn't even really sure if all his thoughts were his own._ Gonna bite their pretty faces and make 'em regret ever being born._ Something in him pushed for release.

He lunged and tackled one. _Man._ Nearly as broad-shouldered as himself. _Human_. Something flickered in his mind. _All humans_. Something was wrong. _Dean._ Very wrong. He stumbled off the man. Someone gripped him roughly by the shoulders and yanked him back. Punches rained down over him, and he curled together in a ball until the pain suddenly ceased.

"_Sam?_" Someone towered over him.

"_Jesus… look at his eyes!_" a shadow called out.

Sam rolled away from the frightened voices and fists, and towards the warm darkness sitting on his right. _Dean!_ A child's voice gibbered in pathetic relief. He wasn't sure if he whimpered or screamed. _Ga-ahh_. Someone sobbed, most like him. _Make it s-stop, Dean. Please, makeitstopmakeitstop, please_.

"I'm right here, Sammy," A hand on his face. Disjointed voices, warning the hand to keep its distance. "_You_! Shut the fuck up!" But the hand didn't listen. It kept running soothingly through his hair.

"_Sammy?_" Felt nice.

Slowly, but surely, his sanity returned. He felt so tired. Feverish. So disoriented. He needed to sleep so bad, but the insistent hand on his head wouldn't let him. It kept reminding him of its presence. _Thing._ He giggled.

"_You sure he's still there, Dean?_"

The hand flexed. "I'm not gonna let some bitch-hag take him out after all the shit we've been through!" The hand stilled and resumed its calming circles.

_Dean…_

"Sam?"

The voice wanted a sign of life. A reason for asking. For caring. A point. Sam wasn't sure he had a point. He barely managed to open his eyes to mere cracks and was almost blinded by the sun.

"Hey, kid," The hand twitched, but didn't leave.

It frightened him how much that surprised him. He'd expected a bullet the second he realized what was happening. It was why he'd agreed to Freddy. Strange hunters made Dean nervous, but they made Sam feel a little less insane. There'd always be someone objective enough to put a bullet in his skull if he lost his shit.

But here he was, losing his shit, and still no bullet. Instead his eyes dropped closed on their own accord, and he was yanked out of his own, personal hell, back into oblivion.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He looked at his brother. Sam seemed dead to the world. The morphine, pumping through his system should'a been enough to kill him, and yet it seemed like it was barely enough to keep him down. For some reason he was only barely unconscious. He was flinching and shifting too much for Dean's liking.

What had started as an uncontrollable rage in his brother was changing. Affecting him physically. Sam's lips were still blue, even after washing away Hephzibah's saliva, and Dean was getting worried it might be oxygen-related.

Dean himself was still shaking from his own ordeal, sitting in the temporarily occupied home. Now full of civilians, a hunter he didn't trust, a hunter he disagreed with half the time, and Bobby.

Bobby who had offered him a shot of morphine, like his brother, once they'd arrived. Dean had accepted which was admittedly a moment of weakness on his part, but he couldn't have imagined how the pain would've been after the comedown of adrenalin _without_ the drugs. He'd be better off in la-la-land along with Sam. Looking at him now made emotions swirl inside him. Worry and anger, being the predominant two, though he didn't quite understand why.

Sam was sweating. His face was stuck in a pain-induced frown. His hands jerked occasionally, and he shook all over. Like his body was trying to fight off a massive infection whilst battling monsters in his dreams. He could only imagine the pain Sam would feel when he woke up. Only imagine how he'd feel himself if Sam woke up as something else.

_When_, a tinny voice taunted. "Shut up," he whispered into thin air. He'd tried calling Cass, but the goddamn angel was off doing who-knew-what. Hadn't returned Dean's calls in any shape or form.

"You say somethin'?" Bobby appeared in the open door.

"Nah nothin'," Dean turned. "Hey."

He entered fully. "Hey kid. How's he doin'?"

He sighed. "Dunno," Dean felt spent. _Empty_.

Bobby rolled over next to the bed. "You have Rufus check you over?"

"'M fine,"

He nodded. "How's the pain?"

"Fine,"

Annoyance flickered across his face. "And the verbal skills, how 'bout those?"

"What's wrong with my brother, Bobby?" Dean's own voice bore witness to just how tired he was. Like a paper towel, fluttering on the edge of a hook, just waiting for the smallest breeze to rip it along.

Bobby sighed. "He's fightin', but there's no guarantee he'll wake up," He thought about the statement for a second. "Well, he'll wake up no matter what, if we run outta morphine, but by then he probably won't be Sam."

"I thought you got it out."

A beat. "Yeah."

Dean turned to his friend who twitched his lips. "You hesitated," He narrowed his eyes. "Now, you hesitate? _Now_?"

Bobby rubbed a persistent itch on his nose and glanced up at the young man, hunched over by his brother's side. "Don't know if we got it all."

"What's happening to him?"

"I thought you had that figured by now?" Bobby's voice was kept low and gruff. Not wanting to agitate the young man further.

"No?"

"He's becomin' one a' them, Dean."

Dean's mind spun wildly for a second before connecting the sneer around Bobby's lips to recent events. "A ghoul?"

An exhale was all the answer he dared give.

Dean snorted right back and leaned forward, looking sick.

"You need the bucket?"

He inhaled with great effort, and closed his eyes. "Ahhh… No," Straightened back up. "I thought you said you stopped it. Got it all out."

Bobby didn't comment on the repeat. "I knew there might be a chance some of it'd infected his bloodstream."

"What about me?"

Bobby shrugged. "Might be we got it all out," Dean suddenly noticed the weary air around his friend. "Might be we missed some and it's takin' longer for you to turn."

Dean widened his eyes. He felt them doing it. Fear, mixed with shock, mixed with something else, making his lids peel apart and his eyes bulge. "Well, then what? Is it safe for me to be runnin' around?" He gestured vaguely to the living room of the house they were squatting in.

"We'll see the signs if they show up. Won't make it past Rufus an' me. Don't worry," The reassurance sounded hollow. _We promise to kill you if you turn_.

_If_, the little voice echoed.

_If?_

"What about the people they saved?" he asked to banish the little voice.

"We dropped most of 'em off at a local bus stop. Some of 'em wanted to stay."

"And you _let_ them?"

"They said they had nowhere else to go," Bobby looked sternly at him. "That, and she took families, Dean. That's what Hephzibah killed. Starting with the youngest members and workin' her way up," He looked back at the youngest Winchester, flinching in his sleep. "Probably why she zoned in on Sam."

"Were any of _them_ infected?"

"A couple. We got it out in time."

Dean nodded and released a deep sigh. "You sure?"

"Well-"

A clatter from the living room interrupted them. "Shit," Bobby rolled away in his chair, and Dean out of his crouch, and together they rushed through the door. In the living room a woman was being pinned to the floor by a big, black guy and Rufus, who was poised over her with a needle. He stuck the petite blonde and injected the high dose of morphine. She struggled for a few seconds, but the black guy held her tight.

Freddy was off to the side with a loaded shotgun. Dean pushed it down in passing. "What're you gonna do with that, Pop-n-lock, blow their freaking brains out trying to blow _hers_ out?"

"She started showin' signs about an hour ago," Rufus called to Dean and Bobby. He straightened his back with a crack. "Didn't turn ugly until about fifteen seconds ago," He clapped the guy, who'd held her, on the back. He nodded to Dean. "Dean, this is Derek. He's the one who carried you outta there."

Dean and Derek shared a brief glance while Freddy and Rufus picked up the blonde and carried her into another room. Dean was about to follow when Rufus called back out. "Dean, get the cuffs in ma' duffel and bring 'em in here?"

He patted Bobby on the shoulder in passing, but didn't speak. The people they'd brought back were all watching warily.

He jumped at the chance of doing anything to help. Even the smallest tasks were a welcome change from staring at an unresponsive brother.

In the room was a bed without a mattress, placed strategically in the middle. Freddy was cuffing the blonde's feet to the bed whilst Rufus held out his hands for the cuffs, and chained her hands to the headboard. Dean couldn't help but stare as Bobby wheeled in behind him. Her eyes were half open and rolling in their sockets. She was twitching just like Sam and mumbling incoherently. "Who is she?" Dean hovered uneasily in the doorway.

"Stacy Addams. We found her with the rest," Rufus straightened and sighed. "I thought she was gonna make it."

"She still can though, right?" Dean suddenly felt his stomach plummet.

Bobby glanced at the crestfallen Rufus before turning to Dean. "I honestly have no idea if any of 'em are gonna make it or not."

Dean's heart was hammering and sweat was forming. _Nononono, this can't end with Sam dying. He's gonna become one of those things. I can't let that happen- won't let it happen. No. Not ever_.

Rufus injected the girl again and answered Bobby's glare. "It's a muscle relaxant. Just like I gave to Sam. Mixes fine with morphine," He straightened. "I checked," and vacated the room.

"Is it safe to leave her like that?" Dean asked quietly with an anxious glance out at the other victims.

"Yeah. She'll be out for half an hour before her metabolism burns through the drugs."

"Just thirty minutes?"

Bobby shrugged. "That seems to be the average time, yeah. Sam burned through it in less," He made a uey and headed for the ramshackle kitchen. There was no running water or electricity, but a box of bottled water and pizzas were stacked on the chipped counter. Dean grabbed a water.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter and stared in the direction he knew Sam to be. "You have a way to fix my brother, Bobby?" he asked into the floor.

The old hunter growled deep in his throat, and sent the young man a glance. "Maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rufus entered the kitchen, and glanced towards the living room which was just out of sight and earshot. "Dean, back at the church…" He thought of the young man's reaction when he told him the truth. "We didn't kill her."

"What?" He looked stupidly around for a few seconds whilst Rufus stared calmly at him. As Bobby made several aborted attempts at biting his thumbnail. Suddenly it dawned on him with a sickening feeling. _No_… "Don't tell me-"

"Dean-"

"Nononono, don't _tell_ me that you walked outta that building without making _goddamn_ sure the goddamn _witch_ was _dead_!" he yelled the last words at Rufus.

"I got off a shot of consecrated iron, just after somethin' really strange happened,"

"What happened?"

"I haven't told Freddy this," He glanced at Bobby, "but it looked like her mind went right before I pulled the trigger. One second she's glarin' daggers at me and the next she's like a damn doll. No emotion. No thoughts at all."

"You don't think it was something else?"

"Like what?"

Dean glanced at Bobby before he huffed and scratched his head. "Shock?"

"No. You didn't see it, kid. And with all due respect to you and that brother of yours, I've been on this case a helluva lot longer than you."

_Screw you_. He ground his jaw and nodded before the primal response even registered consciously. "So whatta you think?"

"I read about her before I came up here. The history books know her as Hephzibah, and they claim she was burned at the stake over twelve hundred years ago. We're talkin' medieval here, Dean- alright. She was old school _evil_. Before the church stuck its nose in there and started going after them, she got fried for crimes too heinous to be described, even by past standards."

"So? She obviously survived somehow."

"Her powers, yeah. I don't think her body did, though."

Dean leaned closer. "How so?" He glanced again at Bobby, but the older hunter kept his mouth resolutely shut.

"I think she's trainhoppin'," His eyes lit up with a strange fascination. "I think her mind jumped ship at her execution and somehow learned to keep moving from body to body."

"So she could be anywhere?"

"Yeah. Possibly."

"Wonderful," Dean skimmed a hand through his hair. "Did you double check the locks?"

"Talismans and bottles of brimstone everywhere," He fired off as if knowing that would be Dean's first question. His expression softened. "She ain't gettin' inside. Don't worry."

"No. I won't worry about her, coming to _kill_ him-" he ground out. "I'll just worry about him becoming a _ghoul_ instead."

"Look, I know-"

"_NOOAARRRHHHH!"_ The scream echoed through the house.

"Not again," Dean jumped and sprinted into his brother's room. "What's happenin'?" Freddy was already hunched over Sam, trying to hold him down.

"He's changing!"

The oddest cracking sound came from under Sam's skin while he writhed on the cot. "Jesus…" Bones were fucking _traveling_ under his skin. Expanding, shifting, and changing positions. Just a hair's breadth or so every few seconds, but more than enough to cause massive pain and _be freaking visible_. "This is gonna kill him before he ever changes completely. Can his body even take this?"

Rufus had stormed in after him, with Bobby rolling in after that.

Blood vessels ruptured before their very eyes, resulting in huge, black and blue blemishes, blossoming across his skin. "Sam?" Dean knelt by his head and cupped a hand over it. He noticed Rufus delivering another shot in his periphery. "Sam, c'mon, man- I know you can hear me."

He felt Sam's collarbone shift under his arm and swallowed down a wave of vomit. Sam grunted in pain and arched his back, looking like he was trying to crawl out of his skin to avoid it, but to no avail. "Please-please h-help…me," His eyes rolled in their sockets, searching for something.

His breath smelled metallic and sickly sweet. "I'm right here, Sam. C'mon," He leaned in as close as he dared and whispered in his brother's ear. The drugs were pumping through Sam's system and he started to calm back down. He smelled horrible.

"_D'n_," he breathed out. His struggles faded until he passed out completely.

"Switched to Ketamine," Rufus supplied, stepping back with a deep breath.

Dean exhaled as well and sat back. "And how long will _that_ last?"

"Hopefully longer 'an thirty minutes," He turned and left the room when another scream sounded. "What _now_."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

AN: I have a friend. His name is Cliffhanger. Cliffhanger, meet Readers :) T

hat's it for tonight folks. Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I realize now that I lied when I said that was all for tonight. I'm gonna be honest, I don't know when I'll stop...might just keep going for ever and ever.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

It was funny; before this hunt Dean had always wondered how ghouls looked. He knew they took on the appearance of their victims, but never knew how they looked at birth – sorta' speaking. And now, at the age of thirty one, he found himself with a front row seat to a spectacular view. Stacy was hanging from the ceiling by her fingertips. She was upside down in the weirdest angle Dean had ever seen. She was hanging with her head in the corner, pointing _down_, and her legs stretched out across the ceiling.

Her long, blonde hair hung in sticky bands. Like fingers reaching for the floor. Her mouth was open in a wide hiss, and her eyes were darting from face to face. Her tongue looked black and like it might be dying whilst still in her.

Suddenly she focused on Dean, and seemed to calm quite radically. Her eyes widened and took on an innocent expression. She hissed softly in appreciation and shifted closer. Dean found the sight mesmerizing, and was having trouble taking his eyes from her. She didn't look anything like he'd expected a ghoul to look.

Her eyes were a deep grey, almost black. Her skin was white and paper-thin. Her nails had sunken into the fingers and yellowed, some fallen off. And on top of that it was like all her body fat had just vaporized. She looked wafer thin, with bones that now looked more like rounded pool cues, draped in leather. Like Sam was starting to look; and knowing that despite all that fragility she could kill him in seconds if she- _it_ wanted to.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Rufus, you got any silver bullets?" Bobby asked without taking his eyes from her grotesque form.

"Got 'em right here," he answered, slowly pulling the gun from the back of his pants.

"Wait, you're gonna shoot her? I thought you had a cure," Dean's heart was pounding in the beginning stages of anger. He'd felt it enough to know.

"Not yet, and there's nothing we can do for her now anyway. She's already changed," Rufus fired simultaneously with a deafening screech from her. It happened quickly. _Screech_. _Boom!_ And she hit the floor.

_Dead_.

Dean stared at the scene without really realizing what had just happened. He looked up at Bobby who had a regretful frown plastered over his face. Some concern mixed in there. "How did she change so fast?" Dean suddenly felt his heart hammering again.

"What?"

"If she was infected before Sam, with a bigger or similar dose, why didn't she show any signs before? With Sam it happened instantly," He looked from Rufus to Bobby and inched a step forward when no answer was forthcoming.

Suddenly realizing it was just the three of them in the room.

Rufus had noticed that too. "She's here," He kept his voice low and his eyes on the door, connecting to the hall and beyond that the living room full of strangers. And _Freddy_.

"You got a plan for this scenario?" Bobby turned from Dean to Rufus. Almost accusing, but not quite.

"Damn bitch. I suspected she'd done somethin' like this."

"Sam…" Dean swirled and ran for his brother's room. His boots were pounding down the hall, past the open living room where everyone turned and stared. He bounced through the door and found his brother blissfully unaware. Sam was on his back with his eyes closed. Bruises were still growing all over his body, and his bones still shifted occasionally. Not as fast as without the drugs, but still ominously quick. Looked like the ketamine was working.

"Hey, Sammy. How you felling?" He sat at the edge of the bed and put a hand on his arm. It felt cold. He heard Bobby rolling up behind him, but didn't bother to turn.

"I think I know how to fix this," Bobby said quietly. "But it requires outside help."

"Whatever it takes," Dean turned and sent Bobby a look that meant business. It meant that they were very quickly approaching the wolf-hour where one's loyalties might get tested, and it meant that Dean fully expected loyalty from Bobby if it came down to choosing between Sam and anybody else. It felt surprisingly stimulating giving someone that look.

"You tried Cass?"

Dean looked away and turned back to his dormant brother. "Yeah. Bastard's not picking up."

"He might still. Keep callin'."

"Yeah," Dean glanced back out the corner of his eye. "Thanks, Bobby."

The old friend nodded, and left the room without answering.

Dean leaned forward and sighed. "Shit, Sam. What the hell is gonna become of us, huh? Seems like this is becomin' a weekly occurrence. One of us gets bit or cut or thrown, and the other one worries," He sat back on the folding chair and crossed his arms. "Just usually me that get's hurt and you that worries."

He waited for a sign that his brother had heard him, but got none. "I get why you're so cranky all the time, ya know?" He was stubbornly trying to elicit some kind of response from his sleeping brother. "I'd be too if I had to worry about your freaky butt everywhere," He sighed when there was still no reaction. "Not that I don't already," He chewed on the inside of his cheek, _but do you really?_ The voice asking the question sounded like Alastair, and Dean couldn't quite shake it off.

"To tell ya the truth, I think she's just playin' us, Sam," He was trying to spin his mind back on the hunt, only somewhat successful. _Do you think…Sam still thinks you worry about him? That you still care? That you like spending time with your own brother?_ Alastair mingled with voices from Uriel, Zachariah, and Azazel speaking through his dad, and they all sounded equally rational.

Sam had become quiet, almost jittery, over the past months.

At first Dean hadn't really bothered. It felt good being the one in the driver's seat again, and he hadn't bothered watching his words around Sam anymore. But lately his brother's behavior was becoming a little worrisome. It started bothering him after a dream about one of his and John's fights. It had been one of the more brutal between the two and John and won, casting Sam into some weird form of apathy.

The kid had been depressed and miserable for a week afterwards. He'd followed orders like nothing mattered anymore, and that was over a stupid school project.

"I think this is some sick game to her," he whispered as he stared into the wall. Trying to divert his mind from where it felt most comfortable. _Masochistic prick_.

He flinched when someone outside the room yelled, but stayed in his seat when he realized it was just the victims from the church, arguing. His hand snuck out to Sam's arm automatically. This place was sending all his senses into overdrive. It was an old house, left over from the civil war probably. Run down and not much to look at. Four windows on the main floor, blown out. Floorboards on the top floors, caved in. He didn't even wanna think about the cellar.

More arguing. He sighed and sat back in the chair. It was just their luck that they had a house full of civilians, no beds besides Sam and the one Stacy had used, for the injured. Maybe more upstairs, but no one had the inclination to look. No food but takeout. And now Bobby was sending for some woo-doo, wiccan, wreath-weaving, mystery person to fix his little brother and whoever else might be infected. He shifted his back and cringed when pain lanced across his arm and over his shoulder. That bitch got him worse than he thought.

Night fell quickly. With nothing but candlelight, they limited the light to the living room and Sam's bedroom. The wind was blowing outside, but it wasn't nearly as creepy as it seemed. Almost cozy. If not for the witch roaming around outside, and his brother down for the count, Dean would've been almost content. If not for the creaks and strange noises that always filled old houses. Unfelt by him, a person had snuck up in the darkness from the hall.

Their body was covered by the shadows and their footsteps by the wind, blowing outside. Dean Winchester slowly closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him. He sat back and felt it all melt away. What he didn't feel, were a pair of ancient eyes, peering at him through a new host. Hephzibah smiled. She was done playing with the rest of the little mice. If they sent for someone to help them it'd be pointless to persist. No, she thought. Better to move onto someone new. Someone a little older. She smiled evilly as she thought of the fun still to be had.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She was poised over him with a finger running gently up the side of his face. He had such delicate features for a man of the sword. She's love to see how he responded to her persuasion. She'd loved the baby brother even more, but knew there were other ways to get what she wanted. Ways, much more fun than simply applying violence.

She let her nail trace a slim line in his skin. It left a red strip which quickly faded. With a wide smile, she left the room, and returned to the three hunters and the other victims.

"Where's the suspect?" a crass voice asked.

Dean looked up as Bobby entered the small bedroom. "Who's she?" He wasn't all that pleased with a newcomer getting involved.

"Dean, this is Stella," Bobby held out a hand to the fifty-something woman.

Stella nodded and smiled, before looking at Sam. "So this is the handsome devil that caught the attention of a witch?"

Dean ground his jaw to keep from slugging her. "Can you fix him?"

She scoffed at him, and shooed him out of his seat. He obeyed begrudgingly. "Please. This stuff is small fry compared to my usual gigs, but Singer said he'd owe me one," She winked at the grizzly demonologist, and opened a travel bag. It seemed there wasn't a wiccan out there that Bobby wasn't owed a favor from.

"So what?" Dean glanced from Bobby to Stella. "You light some incense and chant a few magic words and the poison's out?"

She turned back to him with an alarmingly serious look. "Do you know _anything_ about witchcraft?"

Dean made a pass for her, but Bobby held a hand out. "Just let her do her thing, Dean."

"I know enough," he growled.

Stella huffed and pulled out a slender blade. She opened Sam's hand gently and drew blood from his thumb. "The incense comes later."

Dean was shifting his feet uneasily and trying to skirt past Bobby every other second.

"This isn't just a toxin. No toxin can do this without a little magical aid," She mumbled while pulling things from her bag.

"It's a curse?" Bobby asked.

"A very old one," Stella hissed and drew back the knife. "A very angry one."

"The witch that made it was supposedly burned on the stake."

"Hephzibah, yeah. Bobby told me. Guess, getting your ass shish-kebab'ed would be enough to piss anyone off," She dripped the blood into a bowl with a feather.

"What's that for?" a new voice asked from the doorway.

Dean and Bobby both swirled to find Derek, peering into the room. "Get him out! This isn't a circus!" Stella shouted in outrage. The temperature seemed to chill several degrees from her voice alone.

Bobby reacted instantly, and herded the man outside with low words of comfort. Dean quickly forgot about them and turned his attention back to Sam. "Is this even going to work?"

"It should," Stella looked up with compassion for the first time since arriving. "If he doesn't stroke out in the process," She turned back to the task at hand and waved a hand at him in dismissal. "This will take a while and I don't do well with crowds," She turned to look at him when she didn't hear him leave. "Shoo."

Dean was a hairbreadth away from growling at her, but managed to keep it in. He turned for the door and met Rufus on the way.

"Hey, kid. Just took a walk outside. No sign of anyone."

"Doesn't mean she's not there," Rufus nodded, but Dean sensed there was something else. "What?"

"Or she's hiding in plain sight."

Dean cast a glance towards the living room. "You think she's already inside?"

Rufus shrugged.

"How? We sealed the doors and windows."

"Maybe she's been here the whole time," His eyes looked like a looming storm.

Dean nodded, realizing what the older man was getting to. "Back at the church. She went into one of the others right before you shot her. That's why Stacy suddenly turned."

"Precisely what I thought."

"So what? How do we weed her out? There's five innocent civilians in there, and if what you're sayin's true, she's in one of them."

"I say we ship 'em all out," He practically felt Dean's temper rising. "It's better than killing her and it gets her _out_. Better than risk going at her with your brother lyin' in the next room, wouldn't you say?" His dark eyes speared Dean and made the young mad slouch.

He should've reacted faster. _Should've been me instead of Sam_. "Yeah."

Rufus nodded. "I'll set it up. You stay with Sam. Don't let anybody into that room until Bobby and I return, alright?"

Dean nodded. "Alright."

Rufus clapped him on the shoulder. "Good, kid. See ya' soon."

"Yeah, see ya," Dean watched from the hall as Bobby and Rufus rounded up the last civilians. He hated lying to them and shipping them off when they could still be in danger. Bobby argued a minute or so with Rufus before he realized he couldn't keep Sam safe from the strangers while keeping them in the house. He reluctantly agreed and helped Rufus check everyone out one last time before driving them to the nearest hospital, town or bus station. Freddy seemed to hover, perfectly pleased to follow his elders' lead.

Dean returned to his brother's room when he saw Rufus and Freddy's trucks pull away from the house. He entered the room and almost choked. The heat was stifling. "What the hell…"

Stella glanced up at him. "It's Sam. His body's heating faster than I thought it would."

"What does that mean?" He was by his brother's side in seconds.

"It means: this shouldn't be happening so quickly. His body is trying to fight the curse on its own as you saw. My job is just to give him a little push in the right direction, but now I think that ship may have come and gone."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded again when his brother started convulsing.

"It means I need Bobby and Rufus in here to help us. Now, Dean!"

He flinched before he remembered they weren't there. "They're dropping the victims off. I'll have to do," He'd seen Bobby being lifted into Rufus' truck.

"You don't understand. This is gonna get violent and difficult real soon."

"I can do it," Sam arched off the bed with a guttural moan. "_Sam_."

"Shit," Stella leaned forward and dripped something syrupy onto Sam's tongue. "Hold his arms."

Dean did as told and the next second Sam's back arched even further and a horrible scream ripped from his throat. "Sammy?"

"Dean, _hold_ him!" Stella reached down and pulled out more strange potions. She continued to pour them onto Sam's tongue, and each time a retched scream would rip from his throat.

Until, suddenly, he went deathly quiet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sam was dead to the world and Dean was furious. "_Stella_! What the hell did you just _do_ to him?" He was out of his mind and felt most like punching his fist through her face.

"It's the curse. I have to draw it out," She stood from her chair and waited for Dean to stop trying to revive his brother. "But we _need_ Bobby and Rufus for that. I can't do it just the two of us."

"Why not!" Dean could feel his head spinning.

"Because I'm not so sure you're one hundred _percent_ right now," She stared him right in the eye.

Dean snapped and lunged for her throat. His large hand wrapped around it and forced her into the wall with a thud. His lips were parted in a sneer. His entire body was shaking with pent up anger. And then she did the strangest thing. Her wide, pleading eyes softened, and she reached up a hand and placed it gently on his forehead. Like the gentle spray from a shower, he felt his rage drain from him until he was left utterly spent. His deep breaths became hitching and he let her go.

With two shaky steps back, he suddenly realized what had happened. The shock of it came first. His breath hitched. Then came the guilt and he lowered his gaze. The second he dared look up, he was met by a pair of wet eyes. The guilt became shame, so gut wrenching and painful that he found it hard to breathe. He forced past her without looking up as he left the room. He needed some fresh air to process what the hell had just happened.

He left her standing alone. He left Sam. He couldn't breathe. The air was too thick in that room. The cold air outside was like a slap. He stopped in the doorway and heaved a deep breath. He just needed a moment alone. He wanted a break from worrying and pleading for his brother to wake up.

He stayed outside for almost an hour, until two trucks pulled up to the house. Rufus and Freddy helped Bobby out, and the two senior hunters eyed him nervously whilst the third headed back inside.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Bobby immediately saw the numb air around the younger man.

"Nothin'. Just getting some air," Dean schooled his features and stretched his shoulders. "How'd it go?"

"Fine. We checked 'em out and everythin' seemed in order. Dropped some off at the bus station and one off in town."

Dean nodded and glanced up as Rufus skirted past him, through the door. Probably preferring to let Singer deal with the goddamn Winchesters whenever he could. "Bobby, somethin' happened with Stella."

"What?" Bobby's attention zoned in on Dean's reluctance.

Dean huffed when he realized how little he remembered about the situation. "I honestly have no idea. She gave Sam something and I just went off," He brushed a hand through his hair and sighed.

"You… _went off_?"

"I…" Dean glanced back into the house and turned completely. "I overreacted."

"How so?" Bobby had a slightly stupefied air about him.

"Not really important, but at the time I didn't think. Now I'm not even sure what exactly happened."

Seeing his distress Bobby slouched his posture and rolled a little closer. "You think it was Hephzibah."

"I guess," Dean turned back to face his surrogate father. "I mean, could she have done something to me to make me react like that?"

"You sure it ain't just the stress?"

"Dunno."

Bobby nodded slowly and vowed he'd keep an eye on the younger man. "I'll dig around. See what I find. It's possible she cursed ya along with Sam, but to be honest I'm leanin' more towards the stress theory."

Dean nodded as Bobby padded his arm on the way in. He stretched his neck and closed his eyes. He could feel the anger crawling back out and recognized he hadn't felt this angry in a while. The second he entered his brother's room, along with Rufus, Bobby, and Freddy that anger returned. The heat was stifling and he almost immediately felt sweat dripping down his back. But he vowed to keep his mouth shut and suck it up.

Stella started the ritual and Sam reacted in a second. His back arched and a terrible wheeze leeched out his mouth. It was wide open as were his eyes. He was staring straight through Dean a lot like Stacy had the day before. "This is where you come in," Stella announced. Freddy, Rufus and Dean circled the bed and pinned down several of Sam's extremities with Bobby watching from the sidelines.

He arched up from the bed only to settle a few seconds after. This happened again and again, like convulsions.

Each time, every muscle in Sam's body would coil to the point where Dean could almost hear them creak. Each time his mouth would open and a horrible wheeze would escape. Then he'd collapse onto the bed with a deep exhale. For each convulsion Sam's exhales became a little more labored. "What's happening?" Dean was keeping tabs on Sam's face, which had gone from pale to ash.

"His body's trying to combat the infection. It's forced to treat it like a virus instead of the curse it really is."

"Will it still work?" Bobby asked with a waver in his voice.

Dean chomped down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood when another convulsion ripped through Sam. "I hope so," Stella looked from Bobby to Dean with a wild expression. "Right now he's in the final stages of the transformation. If this doesn't work within the hour he's gonna relapse and be too weak to fight the virus."

"It'll take over completely," Dean guessed with his eyes glued to Sam. Another convulsion. They were coming like clockwork. Every twenty seconds or so.

"Yeah," Stella confirmed.

The next convulsion brought with it a new twist. Not only did it sound like his was brother being ripped apart on the inside, but now blood started to dribble out his nose and ears. "This is supposed to happen?" The heat was killing Dean as fast as that toxin was killing his brother.

"Yes," Stella's voice hardly wavered. She stared at the young man and looked for any signs he was about to lose the fight against Hephzibah. "But he might need a trip to the hospital when we're done."

"That's not really an option," Bobby answered with a quick glance at Dean's furious expression. "Boys aren't exactly what you'd call law-abiding."

"That's not really up to you, Bobby," Dean bit out when a wave of vertigo crashed over him. He cracked his neck. Sam arched from the bed and Dean's fingers coiled like snakes around his brother's biceps. It was getting easier and easier holding Sam down, and he didn't know if it was because Sam was getting weaker, or because he himself was getting angrier.

"Look," Stella's voice was too calm.

It drove Dean insane. He grit his teeth and glared daggers at his brother, despite not really resenting _him_ at the moment. "He's not convulsing," Dean counted the seconds since the last attack and more than twenty seconds had passed. "Sam," Suddenly the anger drained from him. He leaned closer and listened to the steady breaths. "Sam?" Sam opened his eyes with a tiny, shocked inhale and instantly started shaking. Freddy released his legs and Rufus, his wrists.

Dean loosened his grip on Sam's shoulders without letting go completely. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. "Wh-What?" Sam blinked owlishly up at his older brother and reached shakily up for his arms. Dean leaned down and rested his forehead briefly on the pillow next to Sam's head.

"Glad you're back," He whispered and allowed a quick smile to accompany to hand on Sam's head. "You've no idea how glad," Dean saw Bobby patting Sam's knee before filing out behind the other two. Stella hovered in the door with a brooding look at both, young men before she left as well. He sat down on the bed and let a deep sigh escape him. Sam was still lying down and not making a move to get up, but Dean was too busy trying to quell the ever present anger to care. "No idea…" His hand was still on Sam's forehead to calm the younger man from shaking.

He didn't notice his confusion or the silent tear that slithered down his brother's cheek.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dean sat by his brother's bed, carding his hand through the unruly hair, oblivious to the wretched, wheezing sobs coming from Sam. "D-Dean?" Every inch of the younger brother was shaking. His chest hurt like hell, as did every large muscle group in his body. "Wh-what happened?" Dean sat like he was carved from stone and kept running his fingers calmly through his brother's hair. "Nn-" He swallowed and almost choked. A layer of blood was coating his tongue.

"Shh," Dean didn't take his eyes from a spot on the wall. Completely checked out.

Sam shivered and tried to sit again when something shifted inside him. "Ahr," The cry turned to a whimper. "D-n," Like air fizzing out a valve. He made it to the side with Dean's hand falling limply on the pillow Sam had abandoned. "Hhn," His lungs felt collapsed. He could hardly inhale and the exhales were like breathing fire. _What the fuck is happening to me? Dean! Why're you just sitting there!_ He reached out for a chair with a small bowl on it.

The chair tipped over and sent the bowl crashing to the floor with a clatter. _Shit! Dean?!_ He couldn't feel the tremors any more, but could see them in his outstretched hands. "Hhn," All he felt was the burning need to draw in air and the pain of being denied the simple gesture. Shocked voices suddenly exploded in the room around him. "_Sam! Jesus, kid. Dean, what's wrong? Dean! What the hell's happening?_"

Sam tumbled to the floor, away from his brother and into the waiting arms of Rufus. "Sam! Answer me." Realized it was Bobby who had shouted before.

And Sam tried, he really did, but all he could was crumble in a heap on the floor. He landed on his back, looking up into Rufus' wide open mouth; man yelling at everyone in the room, before it all went black.

* * *

><p>Pain returned like a sunrise. First the sky lightened, senses were reawakened. His finger twitched. Birds started chirping, voices spoke softly in the background. He blinked sluggishly. Then came the sun, shocked faces staring at him. He recognized them instantly. And for the first time in a long time Dean felt unsettled. Deeply so. His muscles burned along with the pulsing in his head. Two distinct voices were hovering in the air. Stirring the dull dust, floating around.<p>

The fly from earlier had died during its time trapped behind the closed window. Belly-up with six legs sticking into the air. Dean felt a short sting of sadness for the fly. It never asked to be trapped. All it wanted was to fly.

"Dean!"

He flinched so violently he almost fell from his seat. His wide eyes stared up at Bobby, looking down. He looked furious. _Fury_. The word stirred an emotion in Dean. His eyes glazed again. The word became the emotion. "Where's my brother?" His voice took on a granite-like edge.

"Alive," Came the tart reply. Rufus was sitting next to Bobby, across from Dean. Both of them, holding guns. Seated with their backs to the exit and effectively blocking it. The sun hit them from a point, low in the sky.

"Where?"

"The hospital."

"What?" Dean blinked slowly and frowned. His face felt numb. And on top he was having real trouble remembering anything. "He didn't turn," It wasn't a question.

"No," The answer wasn't delivered with the compassion he'd gotten so used to from his surrogate father. Bobby was glaring daggers at him. "No thanks to you."

He frowned. The facial numbness was wearing off. Now their hostility made sense. Well, no, but more sense if he'd done something wrong. "Did I hurt him?" The question brought with it a deep pang in his chest. _Did I hurt my brother?_ The thought alone was enough to physically pain him. No matter how out of his mind he was, no matter how much the little shit deserved it sometimes, he'd never hurt Sam. He'd never _scared_ Sam. Not when he'd given his life to protect the kid on several occasions.

"Not directly," Bobby's voice was still a little deadened.

Dean found it surprisingly hard to care. His frown deepened. "How?"

"He was bleedin' to death from the inside out," Rufus' voice wasn't dead. It wasn't dark or callous. It was pissed-the-hell-off _furious_.

There was that word again.

Like the fly in the window.

Dean's features smoothed out. "But he's alright?" He could feel blood returning to his fingers and feet. Felt the pain with it too.

"Yeah," Rufus looked at him in slight disbelief. Mostly just suspicion.

"Where is he?" He tried to stand, but his thighs felt like Jell-O. Dean wanted nothing more than to get his little brother and leave the state. The old house was starting to scare him.

"You already asked that," Bobby answered in the same, dead voice.

"Which hospital?" Dean felt clarity return. He felt a spasm in his neck and craned it to the side. His spine made a loud crack. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

Bobby and Rufus both looked disbelieving. "I ain't so sure I wanna _tell_ ya' that."

"Why the hell not?" Dean's voice came out the closest thing he'd heard to a growl in a long time. He felt calm. In control.

"Because you've been zoned out for near _three_ days, Dean," Now Bobby's voice was a roar of anger, instead of the dark tone from before.

"Three…" He stopped midway. Dean stared at the two men in shock, attempted a smile that felt aggressive. "No."

"Yes!" Rufus demanded and rose from his seat. "What the hell happened three days ago, kid?" He stopped an inch from Dean and leaned down.

"I. I'm not sure." Dean glanced at Bobby. "I think it's Hephzibah."

"Yeah, ya know what? I'm startin' to think so too," Bobby growled getting angrier with each moment.

"I wanna see Sam," Dean could feel the need to see his brother like a burning in his bones. "I mean…" He looked from man to man. "What the Hell even happened? How's he doing?"

"His lung nearly collapsed. He was coughin' up blood and the docs couldn't figure out why," Bobby removed his cap, only to place it right back on. Some of the steam fizzing out and leaving behind a weary man.

Dean got up from his seat, wavering only a little. "I'm gettin' him and we're leaving," He made it to Rufus when he felt the man yank him back.

"Hey! Easy," Bobby barked at the older hunter.

Rufus leaned in. "You're not goin' anywhere until we stop that bitch from killin' any more people."

Dean grimaced from the pain in his biceps. "If you're here, then who's protecting Sam?"

"Stella and Freddy," Bobby answered.

A disbelieving huff was all the answer Dean gave. He felt it said all he wanted to convey.

At Rufus' next words he did a double take. "They took your car out," but before he could respond Bobby continued.

"They're a lot more capable than you think, Dean," Bobby said again.

_Yeah, but she's a fucking joke, and he's a fucking stranger_, something roared in his head. "Alright, but I'm still getting him. I'm done."

Rufus let go reluctantly. "You've still got a witch runnin' around."

"Consider yourselves tagged," Dean ripped free and left the two hunters steaming. One in disbelief, the other in outright hatred.

The town was twenty minutes away. The hospital only five. Dean pulled up, was out the car and slamming the desk at the nurses' station in thirty seconds. "I'm here for my brother," Luckily the nurse knew Sam by first name and injuries. He wasn't sure what he'd done if they'd asked for a last name. He had no idea which alias Bobby had checked him in under.

He thought it was all snapping together when suddenly the nurse looked up with something nearing sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry,"

"What?" Dean snapped.

"We were told not to let anyone know where he was."

"Look, he's the only family I got. He's my brother. You can't hold him here."

"Nurse," A doctor walked up with a hand out at the nurse. "You're Mr. Walter's brother?"

"Dr-"

He silenced her again with a raised hand.

"Yes," Dean wasn't so sure, but he'd take anything he could at this point.

"He was admitted by a Mr. and Mrs. Adams two days ago?" He glanced up and Dean nodded. He figured they were Freddy and Stella's on-the-spot aliases in case of emergency. "I'm afraid Mrs. Adams had to step out, but we can go up to speak with Mr. Adams if you wish?"

He felt sick at the prospects opening up to him, but nodded anyway.

The doc turned. "Follow me please," He didn't seem that concerned with the scene Dean had almost created in the waiting area, nor did he seem especially engaged in his patient's welfare.

They'd put a fucking embargo on him seeing his own brother. The reason eluded him. It didn't make a lick of fucking sense to him. No one had told him what'd happened and 'checking out' didn't scream threat-level Alpha to him. Everybody was just gonna have to deal. In the waiting room on the second floor, right by the elevator banks, sat Freddy "Adams" reading a magazine when Dean and the doctor entered.

"Right in here. We were going to call your uncle today and give him an update, but I'm glad you came," The words coming out of his mouth held no real emotions, and Dean barely noticed when he turned and left without word.

He wondered how busy the guy could possibly be in a town of six people, and turned to look at Freddy, pondering if he'd have to resort to begging to see Sam or if the guy even cared that much. "Hey."

"Hey," He came to a stand and put the magazine away. "How are you doing? Where's Singer and Turner?"

"Back at the house, packing shit up," Dean glanced down the hall. "Which one's my brother?" he asked even as he moved forward and pointing.

Freddy aborted whatever he was about to say with slightly anxious eyes. "You know, I'm a pretty decent guy, Dean," Dean paused and turned back. "Rufus asked me to join him because he trusts me."

Dean's jaw fluttered.

"I take that as high praise."

"Sure," He forced out a smile, which _again_ seemed more aggressive than anything.

"They told me you were passed out. Weird," he added in a very cautious tone of voice.

Dean nodded, but didn't offer anything this guy wasn't willing to rip out. "So…?" He asked, pointing in the direction of the rooms.

"Bobby just called," Freddy said, and something dark slipped over his eyes.

Dean nodded, running his eyes quickly over the hunter, checking for weapons, measuring up size. Possible strength. Then he struck out and smashed a fist into Freddy's nose. Hopefully breaking it in the process. Caught the guy on his way down and carefully guided him over to a chair.

He looked around, but the area was empty and Freddy was moaning softly. "Which room's my brother in, Freddy?"

He moaned as he pinched his with eyes wide shut.

Dean reflected on the fact that it had been over ten years since he'd last used physical force against a person as a first option. It struck him and left in moments. "Freddy?"

He pointed to a door on the left hand side, halfway down the hall and Dean didn't waste time. He found his brother's room and entered fully, suddenly feeling relaxed again. Sam was dozing. "Hey, kiddo."

His reaction was subtle, but Dean caught it. Sam's eyes widened in fear.

"Hey…" He hesitated.

Dean did as well, but figured it was better to get it out of the way. "Look, I talked to Bobby and Rufus. They told me I've been out of it the past three days."

"You think Heph-"

"Yeah," Silence ensured. Both glanced down and fiddled with their shirts. Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. The headache was back. "Look, I know you're a little spooked right now, but Bobby said they'd fix it. All we gotta do is get you in the car and get as far away from here as possible."

Sam nodded slowly and glanced up. "You feel better?"

Dean huffed. "You're not the one who should be askin' that question, man."

Sam shrugged and tried for a smile. It looked more like a grimace.

"Anyway. The doc said he had some info, but I'm gonna talk to him about gettin' you out. You ready to go?" He'd have to figure a way around Freddy too.

Sam nodded and shifted his legs over the side of the bed. Part of him privately wondered why his brother was in a hurry. It got overridden by the parts of him that trusted his big brother. The parts of him that were really just desperate for approval however they could get it.

"I'll be right back."

The doctor wasn't happy, but signed the youngest Winchester out AMA, Freddy was MIA, and Dean had them both in the car within ten minutes. So far he thought it was going pretty good. He called Bobby when they left city limits, and ended the call when the old hunter tried to ask where they were headed.

His headache felt better, and his general mood had lifted. By the time they reached the next town the headache was completely gone.

Even Sam felt better. He was on his bed in a new motel room, three missed calls from Bobby, when he first noticed something was still a little off about Dean. About three minutes before, he'd gone to the bed closest to the door, and sat down. Then he'd picked a spot on the wall and focused on it.

"Dean?"

He was still staring straight ahead like a doll.

"Hey?" The youngest Winchester leaned slightly forward to peer at his sibling. "You alright?" He fingered the dial button for Bobby, but didn't push.

No response. Dean was still as a statue, but the look in his eyes suggested he wasn't nearly as calm as he seemed.

"Dean?" Sam's voice dropped with hesitation. He got up with slow movements and circled around his comatose brother. "You there?" Still no answer. He wasn't even sure Dean was aware where he was. Still reeling from the torture of the past week, Sam didn't feel entirely comfortable with this personality change his brother was exhibiting. "I'm gonna call Bobby, alright?" He kept his voice light as he gripped his cell. It only took two seconds with his back turned for Dean to lunge.

A vice-like grip wrenched his arm back. A shove forced Sam stomach first onto the table. His arm was then yanked back till Sam let loose a painful cry and dropped the phone. "_Dean_! What the Hell!?" Dean wrenched it back harder till Sam felt something pop. "_Ahr_!" He was panting heavily against the sticky table top when Dean ripped his head up by the hair and slammed it against the tabletop. Once. He cried out and panted through the pain, tried to brace with his free hand. Twice. Sam felt reality grow a bit fuzzier around the edges. "Dean, stop-" He was released and tumbled to the floor. Hit the ground with a muffled thud and low moan.

Dean towered over him as he tried to crawl away. Whatever person Dean Winchester had once been, was light years away that night. Without preamble he reached down and yanked his brother up and hurled him sideways into the wall.

"No!" Sam yelped when he struck and fell back down. "Dean, please wait-"

But Dean simply stepped forward and launched a kick at Sam's legs, making the younger man draw them closer. A second kick struck something in his chest and forced the air out of his lungs.

Intellectually Sam knew something was wrong. In his rational mind he realized this wasn't who he'd been raised by. It wasn't really Dean.

And as the blows kept coming, Sam repeated that mantra. He tried to fight back, but realized fairly quickly that he couldn't make himself hit hard enough to cause damage, and switched tacks to attempting escape. He made it to the door, fingers on the handle, when one foot was ripped out from under him and twisted up. When a particularly vicious punch forced him into one of the bedside lamps he was prepared to admit to himself that he'd lost. That is wasn't Dean, and that it wouldn't matter in two days' time. Even when a last kick aimed at his chest forced him back and out of the world of the conscious he told himself it wasn't really as bad as he thought. _It's not him _rolled around his brain until he finally passed out and stayed out.

He had been forced into a corner behind the bed and left there.

As if flicking a switch Dean suddenly stopped when Sam fell unconscious, got under the covers, and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

He woke up to a world of agony. Every inch of him hurt. "Oh God," His voice was a light puff of air. He angled himself onto on elbow when his left elbow joint exploded in pain. "Ah," He thumped back onto the floor behind his bed. The dawn was an hour out and the night before was slowly receding, making tendrils of fear sneak up and down his spine. _Dean did this_. "No," Sam's grunt elicited a muffled response from the adjacent bed.

"Hmf?" Dean untangled from his covers and stared blankly around the room. It looked like there'd been a fight. "Sam?" He stuck his head out when a whimper sounded from behind his brother's bed. "Sammy!" The panic he felt was conveyed brilliantly through his voice.

"_Hn-no_-" came a quiet sob from the corner.

Dean rolled out of his bed and tripped, before just crawling, the rest of the way to his brother's prone form. "Sammy?"

Sam stared up into wide, green eyes. Full of fear. He inhaled in shock.

"What the Hell _happened_!" Dean looked at his bruise-ridden brother in shock.

"Just st-stay back!" Sam refused Dean's outstretched hand and uneasily made his way up the wall. There was an obvious change to Dean's personality, compared to the night before, but Sam still couldn't calm himself down enough to stop shaking. Whatever the hell this was needed to be fixed _yesterday_.

"Sam…?" Dean looked around the room again and moved to help his brother when Sam choked back a sob that quickly turned to a series of controlled inhales and exhales.

"J-jus' stay the hell _back_," Sam stared at him with an outstretched hand in between them. He was secretly waiting for the right phrase to make all of it normal again, but knew he wouldn't get it from the traumatized expression on Dean's face. "D-Don't move," His voice turned to an angry growl when all he really wanted was to let go and accept help.

"I-" The frightening clarity of what had happened slammed into Dean, and he physically reared back. "Oh god…I did this. _I did this_?" He pointed at the purple bruises on his brother's face. One eye was swollen shut and his lip had two cuts in them. A hand went to his mouth. Everything on his face opened wide in absolute shock.

"You d-don't remember?" Sam sounded more hurt by _that_ fact, than the attack.

Dean took in every discoloration on Sam's face, plus those sneaking below his shirt, and felt guilt swallow him whole. His chest suddenly hurt. "I'm-m. I'm sorry," It sounded lame, even to him, but it was all he could think of. "I don't know what happened."

"Just, pl…please call Bobby," Sam shied back from his brother's attempt to examine the damages. He tried the best he could to squeeze himself into a corner and stop his shivering. It wasn't really Dean, it wasn't anything like he was gibbering about in the back of his mind. _This isn't that day. Not yet. It's something else. The witch, it's the witch. She's doing this_. With the last thought anger boiled over the fear and pushed the panic back till he barely shook. _He could do this, he could do this_. He just needed a second alone. He needed Bobby and he needed a goddamn second to think.

Dean held out his hands and stepped back. Sam looked spooked, and Dean didn't want to push any more buttons to set him off or cause panic. Instead he picked up the phone and placed a call that nearly shredded him. "Hey, Bobby."

Sam's head shot up.

"_Dean_?"

"I think I hurt Sam," His brother had been curled in on himself, but had now straightened and tensed dangerously every time Dean as much as breathed in his direction. Bobby's response was predictable.

"_You stupid sonofabitch_!"

Dean's arm hairs prickled from the hate in the old man's voice. "Bobby-"

He huffed on the other end of the line, and Dean heard him calm himself down. "_We'll be there in two hours_. _Do NOT fuckin' move, ya hear me?_" he shouted and hung up. Dean sat down on his own bed and braced his head in both hands. He peeked up at his brother's battered face and neck, and felt his stomach unsettling.

"God, Sammy, I'm sorry," His voice was on the verge of breaking as he took in everything he'd done.

Sam was still panting and staring at him with a suspicious, even slight venomous, look. He looked shaky and pissed off. Skittish. "Wh-what the h-hell happened to jjhh-you?"

It didn't go unnoticed by Dean how every other word, uttered by his brother, was nearly chopped to pieces from his panicked stuttering. "I don't know… I'm so sorry."

Sam leaned back heavily against the wall. He was slouched over in pain and cringed with every movement.

"Sam, please let me help you-"

"Stop! Jus' _stay_ back," He put out a hand.

Dean noticed it was shaking badly, but he didn't dare move. Despite the ever present need to protect and help his brother, there was another that overrode that need. Guilt. "I- I won't. I'll sit. I'll sit down," He settled a little more heavily on the bed, hoping to spur his brother out of the corner. It struck him that this would add even more distance between the two of them, and that he wouldn't even have Sam to blame for it. His stomach rolled again and he put a hand on it.

Sam took two steps before tripping, apparently moving for the door, and scrambling back up with an anguished cry. "_Ahr_-Don't!" when Dean moved.

Dean had flinched, barely leaving the bed. "I won't. I won't," He had one hand out and the other beside him for support. He noticed he was shaking just as badly as Sam. _Jesus_, he'd seen victims act like this. Shocked and terrified. Unable to fully process what had just happened. He'd just never been one and as far as he knew neither had Sam. Until now in any case.

Sam reached the small dinner table and the weapons-cache before he folded in half. His forehead thumped onto the wooden top. Dean saw the vicious sneer that split Sam's face from the pain.

"Sam, please. Just lemme help you," He looked a little closer. "I'm so sorry," He felt the last vestiges of energy drain from him. _I give up_. His sleep had been too deep and now he felt as if he hadn't slept at all. With this new development in the witch hunt, the ever-present angel-situation, and his brother's violent emotional upheaval he was just…he felt about ready to quit. "I'm sorry."

Sam pulled out his gun and cocked it. "Y-You're not yourself-f right n-now," He shook so badly that he could barely push in the clip. When Dean heard the click, he saw Sam inch into a chair with the loaded weapon held loosely in his hand.

"I'm more myself than I was yesterday," Dean said with a washed out voice. He noticed Sam's hand, and the gun, twitch. For a second he just wanted his brother to shoot, but it got overruled by not-quite-there-yet apathy.

"You rem-membering what h-happened?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah," He breathed in deeply. "Like a nightmare," He scrubbed a hand down his face. Despite himself his eyes darted to the gun and past Sam's eyes.

"I c-can't…" He fiddled with the gun and adopted a hopeless expression. "Not yet-"

"I get it," Dean cut him off.

A tense silence filled the room a minute or so. Dean stealthily watched his younger brother for signs of pain. He counted dozens, but was still too afraid to try and help. His brother seemed to be calming down despite Dean's presence which gave him a little more hope. It seemed Sam's ordeal, almost turning into a ghoul, had impacted him physically more so than emotionally. "How do you feel?" he finally got up the nerve to ask.

For a moment a look of disbelief took over Sam's face, but then he realized Dean was asking to his emotions. "Fine."

"I really _am_ sorry," Dean repeated in his slow, gruff voice.

"I know, but I-I-"

"You don't have to explain," Dean waved a hand in dismissal. They sat in separate ends of the room for almost an hour before Dean started wondering where Bobby could be. He glanced at his wristwatch and perked his brows.

Sam picked up on the subtle gesture instantly. "How long?"

"Almost an hour and twenty minutes."

"How long did it take for us?"

Dean didn't realize his brother had been so out of it when they left the hospital, to not keep track of time. "About an hour and a half. Little longer."

"So we've got some time," Sam had been pulling his poker face back in place, and tried his damndest to portray an air of calmness. Dean thought he wasn't quite pulling it off.

At least, Dean thought, his shoulders had dropped and his general posture looked a little more relaxed. _Or just exhausted_. "Yeah, but I wasn't rushing to help two of my closest friends in trouble. I was takin' it slow."

"Whatta ya mean?" Sam felt tension tighten his muscles instantly and made a conscious effort to lower his shoulders.

"I could've gotten here in half the time," Dean sent his brother a meaningful look that somehow eliminated the distance, both physical and mental, between them. "You know we might have to work together when he gets here,"

"I know," Sam hear his voice pinch. They had no idea how long range their witch had, and no longer any trust in anyone. Dean didn't even trust himself. A residual quiver rattled through Sam and he knew Dean saw.

He sighed. "I know you're pissed at me right now and I get it-"

"Dean, that's not it," A humorless smile creased his lips. "I'm not pissed. I know that wasn't you last night. I get it," The gun was still pointed at him.

Dean gestured to it. "Then why-"

"Because whatever made you act like that might still get control."

"I'm fine," A sliver of annoyance crept into him, but he quickly squelched it.

"Yeah. Right now you are," Sam took a moment to stare at him pointedly until he knew Dean realized that this wasn't personal. And besides, he knew he didn't need to blame his brother. Dean was probably doing plenty of blaming himself for last night. "I trust you, Dean. It's the _witch_ doing this."

Dean nodded, but looked away. He even seemed annoyed which made claxons ring out in Sam's head. Dean shook his head and huffed. His hands were folded and he looked calm.

Sam decided not to poke whatever it was when both brothers suddenly perked ears at the sound of an engine outside. "You think that's them?"

"Only one truck. Hope Freddy went back to wherever the fuck he came from."

Sam swallowed and inhaled deeply before attempting to stand.

"_Boys?_" The yell was instantly recognized.

"In here, Bobby," Dean called back. He flinched, and barely missed it, when his brother tossed a shotgun to him. He got up while Sam struggled away from the table. A small patch of warmth spread in his stomach over how easily Sam trusted him when it counted. With warmth came guilt roaring by once again.

The taller hunter made his way behind the setting while his brother slowly opened the door. It opened to a disheveled, burley hunter glaring at both men in shock.

"What the _hell_ happened to you?" His question was directed at Sam, but turned to Dean when no answer was forthcoming.

"I did it. I think," Dean's clipped answer did nothing to remove the look of utter shock from Bobby's face. Rufus had run around the building, trying to establish a perimeter, Dean realized. He looked away from Bobby's expression and swallowed down the guilt, knowing there were bigger things to worry about than his hurt feelings.

Bobby closed the door behind him and rolled fully into the room. Sam's gun was hovering, nervously, at hip-level while Dean's was hanging calmly by his side. He considered just dropping it and letting them both blow him away.

"Please tell me you didn't," His wide eyes filled for an instant with something other than shock. Anger. Anger directed, not at Dean, as the boy probably thought, but at the bitch who was responsible for ripping everything Bobby had tried to mend, apart. He squeezed his eyes shut and stuck a finger in each.

He knew he needed to keep levelheaded. If nothing else because his boys needed him to. "You boys are damn lucky me an' Rufus are such great hunters," He growled. He looked squarely at Dean, who stared back with a slightly incensed expression. "He found a way to kill the bitch once and for all. With a little help from Stella."

A truck door slammed and the truck roared away seconds later with Rufus behind the wheel.

"What's she doing?" Sam asked from relative safety behind the dining table.

"She's binding the bitch's powers as we speak. All that'll be left for us is to do a spirit exorcism of the person she's possessin'."

"Seriously?" Dean felt his chest pain lift slightly.

Sam took a small step forward. "You sure that'll work? I mean, what if she just jumps to another body?"

"She won't be able to when Stella's done with her. She's at the house with Freddy right now, doing the spell, but binding spells take a little while."

"So what if she comes there?" Dean asked, shotgun in his hand temporarily forgotten.

"Lore on spirit possession says that the spirit can't travel between bodies for more than one breath. On that one breath they can cover about a hundred yards, sure, but that house is so far out she'd never make it in time to stop it even if she _could_ get in," Bobby still couldn't shake the feeling that something was a little off. He knew Dean was reading his shock like an open book, but he wasn't so sure about Sam anymore.

"That bitch better run because when I find her I'm gonna rip her fuckin' head off."

Dean's growl, which triggered a wave of goose bumps in Bobby, had the complete opposite effect on Sam. The boy giggled, and with a shallow intake of air, the penny dropped for Bobby. His face paled as he slowly turned to stare at the young man.

"But the glory of it is, that once that little bitch finishes her spell, I'll be stuck in your brother," His voice sounded the same. Even his expressions and mannerisms were dead ringers of Sam's, but something was just a little _off_.

Dean never would have noticed if Hephzibah hadn't chosen that moment to go all-in. He realized it with a fluttering of his heart. The cold stab of fear instantly turned to anger. "You bitch…" His voice truly did growl then. He squared his shoulders and brought up the shotgun along with Bobby, bringing up his rifle. "I'm gonna send you straight to hell."

"As I hear, it's lovely this time of year, but there's still a problem," She looked through the eyes of the tall, young hunter. "How do you get _me_ out without killing _Sam_?"

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

AN: So sorry for the break in publishing. I feel like I didn't fully expect new years? Like it snuck up on me. Anyone ever get that feeling? Oh and the alcohol. I blame the sauce for the break in chapters.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

"How do you get _me _out without killing _Sam_?" Hephzibah stared at Dean with a thin smile. Slowly Sam's mannerisms were melting off and Hephzibah's face slipping out from behind his empathetic eyes.

"Oh I'll get you out, bitch. Even if I have to rip you out with my hands."

"I take it you already know the exorcism for ghosts by heart?" Sam folded his arms and glanced at Bobby.

"Not that difficult to remember."

Hephzibah smiled. "I'm not gonna just _let go_. You want me out, you're gonna have to _rip_ me out."

"That won't be a problem," Dean growled and moved in closer, snorting at a sudden thought. "Man, did you choose the wrong meant suit."

Hephzibah followed him with her eyes, but didn't move besides that. Dean saw the first signs of stress begin to show. Little lines creased Sam's otherwise, perfect skin. Pain-induced wrinkles appeared on his forehead. Dean's smile turned to a sneer when the first grunt of pain escaped his possessed little brother. "You think this will _stop_ me?" His voice shrilled on the last word and he doubled over.

"Yeah. I really do," Dean circled closer, gripping the shotgun deathly tight, praying he had a handgun instead. Sam could've maybe taken a shoulder hit, but one discharge of that pump action shotgun and he might just have a chance to find out if Lucifer was lying about the immortality deal.

"No-_ahr_!" Sam buckled to the floor. His head hit the dingy carpet with a thump, but he barely seemed to notice. "I'm gonna rip you ALL apart," His voice was a hoarse roar, hollered into the floor. Hephzibah was forcing Sam's body to take deep, full breaths, but Dean could hear the strain it was causing his ribs.

"No you're not," He half shook his head and felt anger take over. His blood was pumping furiously, making him dizzy. He brought up the shotgun halfway to bear on Sam's slumped form before he felt someone stop him.

"Dean! You're not in control," Bobby's voice was low and dark with an even darker glare directed at Hephzibah who was staring up at them, laughing. "She's still controlling you."

Dean gritted his jaw and yanked his arm free. "It's rocksalt,"

And that's still your brother in there!" The eldest hunter roared.

"No- _hhn_-it's not," Sam was up in a flash and forced Bobby out of his chair. He hit the floor and blinked owlishly. Sam stormed forward, knocked the shotgun out of Dean's hands and grabbed his forehead. "It's me_ehhhh_…." His voice hissed into a whisper and a mad smile blossomed on his face.

Dean felt rage pumping through him at the touch of Hephzibah's hand. His arms stiffened and shook. His head spun and all he could think of was to bite anyone's throat out. In a lightning quick movement he reached out and yanked Sam's arm back till it snapped. Sam reared back his head in a howl and buckled. Dean pulled back his fist and punched Sam across his cheekbone so hard his head popped back and he fell to the floor completely.

Kicking up the shotgun and catching it in the air, Dean moved to stand over Sam's heaving body. He cocked the gun and aimed, just as someone yanked a foot out of balance. He took a knee and Bobby grabbed hold of his shoulders and yanked them both down.

From his spot Sam began screaming as if something was ripping him apart, and almost in sync Dean's entire body coiled in pain as well. Starting and peaking with his head, moving down his spine and into his knees. His vision blackened as the pain took over.

He felt hands on his shoulders and heard the screaming of someone else, but the agony was too much to force away. He gripped his head and writhed on the floor to escape the pain as his nose began to bleed. The carpet grated his skin. Disjointed words drifted from the hands holding him. Another scream that rattled the windows and made his skin crawl. He twitched a few times before the pain died down to a tolerable throb, leaving him almost afraid to move.

Sam's deep sobs was a disturbing background noise throughout the room. Dean felt the hands on his shoulders vanish and heard Bobby's soothing voice, talking to Sam. He opened his eyes and squinted in the sunlight, beaming through the windows. He saw his brother on the floor, bathed in a pool of light and was on his knees, worming his way towards the two of them. He reached Sam and put a hand on his forehead. Bobby moved aside and allowed Dean to check his brother, while he flopped on his back and yanked out his phone.

"Rufus?"

"_Are you alright?_" His tinny voice was panicked.

"Yeah. We're fine. Tell Stella the spell worked. I banished Hephzibah no probl'm."

Whatever was said next was lost to Dean. His hand was still on Sam's forehead, worrying that his brother was unnaturally pale and cold. Calling his name to keep them both grounded. He hated how worried he felt. His brother was a big guy. Big, grown up hunter and what Dean most wanted was to see how damn well said hunter handled himself right then, but apparantly twenty years of instincts were a little harder to ignore.

"What, Rufus?" Bobby glanced back at the boys. As he received the answer his expression froze, and his face paled. "Wh-What?"

"Bobby, what is it?" Dean was looked over from a slowly rousing Sam, staring up at his old friend. Bobby held out a hand meant to calm him down.

"But...uhh," He pinched the bridge of his nose. "The witch vanished."

Dean tried again. "Bobby?"

"But she-" Bobby glanced back at Dean when another inquiry interrupted the conversation with Rufus. "I got her out."

Dean saw his surrogate father's expression fade into dejection. Bobby looked pale.

"Yeah," he breathed heavily into the phone, and blinked against the sudden burn of tears he had no intention of letting fall. His lip shivered and a shaky breath shook his shoulders, but he forced down whatever turmoil Dean was witnessing.

"Dean?" Sam hadn't opened his eyes, but turned his head towards his brother.

Bobby's saw the younger coming around and made an effort to shake the melancholy. "A long time ago, yeah," His head hung when he finally pulled the phone from his ear and flipped it closed, but he set his jaw and turned to Sam. Both still on their backs with Dean leaning over his brother from the other side.

"Bobby, what happened?" Dean's focus was torn between his brother, and the hopeless look on Bobby's face. "Bobby?"

The old man flinched and turned. "Wut?"

"Everything alright?"

Looking into the wide, worried eyes of both men, Bobby felt like an intruder. "Yeah. Everything's fine. How's Sam?"

Sam's lip twitched as though he tried to smile. "_Sam's_ fine."

"Dude, knock it off," Dean chastised. "You sound possessed whenever you refer to yourself in the third person."

He huffed and allowed Dean to pull them both to their feet, before guiding Sam back on the bed.

"Sit down before you break somethin', man," Dean smiled at his weak smirk and turned to Bobby. "Lemme help. Talk outside a second?"

Bobby looked away from Sam, first at Dean then at the accursed wheelchair that was still tipped sideways as Dean got up and drew the chair over before grabbing Bobby under his armpits and helping him into it.

He wheeled the old hunter out with a quick glance back, and closed the door behind them. "You look like you just got bad news."

"Nothin' pressing," Bobby ran a hand over his head and pushed the cap off in the process. "Stella's dead," His voice deadened. Hardened.

Dean's expression folded into sadness a second. "Shit, Bobby, I'm sorry," He placed a hand on the old man's shoulder.

Bobby broke off whatever he was about to sat and shook his head instead. Dean watched it with more empathy than he would've expected to feel. "You knew her better than you let on, didn't you?"

He nodded and exhaled with a little shiver.

Dean's face scrunched up in pain for his friend and he squeezed the shoulder.

His old friend drew a deep breath before he spoke. "I was worried you'd be dead when I got here," he confessed in a sour voice. Dean recognized the subject change for what it was. "Think even Rufus got a little nervous."

The younger smiled slightly, wondering about his brother inside. Feeling a pressing need to return, but feeling the same level of obligation towards his surrogate father. "Naw," He squeezed the material of Bobby's jacket again. "No one's dead, old man."

Bobby snorted and squeezed his hand back before stiffening and wheeling around. He sniffed. "Who you callin' old?" and chuckled.

Dean chuckled with, only slightly distracted. "We're probably gonna stay here while Sam gets back on top. What're you gonna do?"

"Go back. Call Rufus to pick me up," Bobby glanced towards the main road. "Watch him bury Stella."

Dean nodded, a crushing sense of defeat making him want to crawl into bed for a month. "Alright," He suddenly wasn't which option to take. He felt his mind on his brother, but a very strong need to be there for Bobby as well. Eventually that damn instinct won out. "I'm gonna go back in with Sam. You wanna join?"

Bobby shook his head. "I'm gonna sit out here for a bit."

Dean nodded. "Alright," He padded him on the shoulder, feeling he'd dodged a bullet for some reason.

That was, until Bobby stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. "Dean. There's somethin' I didn't tell ya. Somethin' you might not wanna tell Sam just yet."

Dean's eyes zeroed in on him with an intensity that would've broken anyone weaker. "What?"

"The other news I just got," Wiping his chin, Bobby wished he wasn't the bearer of bad news to two boys who already carried the world on their shoulders. "Stella died before she could finish the binding spell," He watched Dean's face for signs that he understood.

In an instant he did, and his face paled. "She's still here?" He jerked to run back inside.

"No. My exorcism worked, she's in hell for sure," He took a deep breath and wheeled himself to face the younger man fully. "But she's far from powerless. There's a good chance she's gonna turn in hell and come back someday."

Dean compared the information with what he felt deep inside. "Come back for _us_."

"Yeah,"

"For me an' Sam."

Bobby nodded. This was how demons like Alastair or Samhain came into being.

Dean answered with another nod and a glance down.

"You gonna be able to handle it?" the hunter asked, referring to Sam, waiting inside. Again changing topics.

"Yeah," Dean tried to smile, but felt it strain against every muscle in his face. "Yeah, we'll be fine," He couldn't figure what he wanted more; leave Sam and head out on the road, or rush in and bundle his brother up right alongside him. He knew what he _would_ do, but then again action had always come easy to Dean.

"Good. I'll hang here for a while. Might pop my head in before I leave, but if not I'll call from the road," Bobby wheeled back around to face the road with tensed shoulders, and Dean left him be, heading back for the room. "And, Dean?"

He stopped again, and looked back.

"You may wanna ask Sam what he remembers from the possession."

The statement made whatever air was left, fizz out of Dean's lungs. The grizzled hunter slouched into his chair, and pulled out his cell. He was facing away from the motel, leaving nothing but the ignorant fucking sunshine to comfort Dean before he put a pin in his own feelings and went back inside.

He was headed for a conversation that had been days, Hell _months_, in the making. To have one more damn chick-flick and get some answers to questions, he wasn't sure he was ready for. To extend energy he didn't have prying answers from a subdued kid brother. He couldn't help feel like it was something he should'a done months ago.

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><p>TBC<p>

AN: Thanks to .777 and SoThereWasTheFire for the sugar! :D One more to go.


	11. Epilogue

AN: Last one :) Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

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><p><span>Epilogue<span>

"Hey," Sam sat straight when his brother entered the room. Dean had a grim look on his face and seemed to have lost the ability to smile since Bobby left. "What's up?"

"Bobby's-" Dean gestured back, but didn't know how to end the statement.

Sam seemed to instinctively blame himself, if the subjugated posture was anything to go by. "Is he ok?"

Dean looked at him in mild annoyance before he moved to sit on the bed. "I think he might've known Stella a little better than he let on," His voice was rough and tired to his own ears.

Sam nodded with a touch of sadness.

Dean sighed and decided a change in subject was in order. "How 'bout you? How do you feel?" He gestured vaguely in Sam's direction and tried to look inconspicuous as he stared.

"Better," Sam inhaled deeply to prove his point and flexed his fingers a bit. "Sore as hell," His voice was low and words were drawn out. Melancholic almost. "And you?"

"Better now that I know the witch's gone," The longer Dean gazed at his brother in the soft sunlight, the sadder he seemed. Perhaps he'd done something wrong somewhere. Not asked enough questions. Not asked the _right_ ones.

"Yeah."

Because he'd come to understand his little brother better the past two years. Come to realize things about the kid he thought he knew through and through that had honestly floored him. For better or worse.

The sun made slow progress across the floor as both brothers sat across from each other. Both, wrestling with emotions and questions, but neither one sure how to voice them. Dean twirled the ring on his finger and wondered how bad the summer alone had been for his brother compared to his own ordeal. He glanced up and saw deep lines in Sam's skin he hadn't noticed before. The kid looked old. Older than Dean. "How you holdin' up, Sam?" He voice lightened to appear less demanding. A feat he mentally patted himself on the back for, considering the level of his exhaustion at that point.

Sam responded to it by sighing again and shrugging his shoulders in the same movement. Not looking up. Not volunteering anything. There had been a time when Sam wouldn't shut up. More and more Dean found himself wishing for those days back, wanting to scream to fill the void left behind. "I mean, about everything lately," he elaborated when he didn't seem inclined to answer.

They crossed glances for a long five-second count before Sam looked down, refusing to meet Dean's eyes again.

"I'll _understand_, Sam," Dean kept his eyes on the young man before him. "You know I will," The last words were a plea. _Please_.

"Why should I waste time talking about it?" Sam still seemed so endlessly sad. "It won't change anything," So small and fragile. He'd seemed back on track moments before, right after Hephzibah was exorcised, but now he looked like he was at the end of a losing battle. The sight made something slightly panicky squirm inside Dean. _Guess the attempt at humor before was just relief_.

"It did for me," Then his brother looked up. Met Dean's eyes, dead on. "More than you know, man," He looked away, but noticed with satisfaction he held his brother's attention. He leaned down with slow movements and pulled something out of his boot. "I know you probably feel a bit skittish about me right now," It was a folded photograph. "But I need you to know, it wasn't me who hurt you," He made an aborted attempt to gesture to Sam's bruises, gently holding the small photograph.

Sam swallowed, and Dean saw the first sliver of genuine emotion in months. _Years_. He held out the crumbled photo and Sam took it. Slowly. Insecurely. With a slight tremor. And Dean noticed the weak twitch as he was reaching out. It'd be a while before his brother could feel completely comfortable around him again.

Dean knew the feeling, but had honestly never wanted his brother to know.

Sam unfolded the photo and his eyes changed. Not the emotionless ones Dean had seen since reuniting, but old ones. Full of so much fear and sadness that it damn near drowned you looking at them. "Why do you have this?" Sam whispered as he gestured with the photo and looked up at his brother.

Dean sighed at the desolate look on his brother's face. "Because I thought one day you might need it," If this didn't rouse Sam, just a little bit, from his post-trauma induced funk nothing would.

A tear slipped down his face. It hit the wrinkled picture with a soft pop. A light sob tore from his throat and with a frustrated heave, he shook the photo.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Dean felt his eyes burn and ignored the tear that dripped from it at the sight of more slipping from Sam's. "I should've stopped it. Everything," Dean sighed miserably when Sam sobbed again. He seemed to shrink back, as if wanting to escape the close quarters. His own skin even. "But I didn't know that any of it would happen. I never _know_," If his voice broke a little, who the fuck cared.

Sam looked up through tearful eyes and wept.

Dean shook all over and was dangerously close to breaking point as well. "None- None of us did," He whispered into the floor with the weight of past regrets weighing him down. He doubted those would ever leave. It seemed the fewer Winchesters lived the greater their collective burden became. It struck him that he'd left Sam as the last man standing to carry that weight. Thinking he'd be alone till his ends of days while his brother rotted in Hell.

He raised a hand to his mouth and watched his brother stare at the picture. He was so lost in the guilt that it caught him off guard when his brother rose from the bed in a mighty heave. Instead of running from the room, Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, into a long overdue embrace.

Dean's hands shook as he reached for Sam's shirt and held on, their chins touching each other's shoulders. It felt good the way his brother's fingers were entwined in Dean's shirt as well. Not like the last time. Not like him clinging on and Sam barely tolerating the contact, or like they were hanging on for dear life.

No. It felt like reaching a hand to someone who needed closeness at that moment. It felt like needing a little more honesty in return and Dean realized this was all he ever should'a asked for. To be needed by someone. For someone to be there for _him_.

He let out a deep, trembling sigh of relief and closed his eyes, feeling Sam do the same. And little by little, they let go of whatever held them down – they relaxed – and Dean began to believe he wasn't so lost that there was no one left who could ever yank him back.

"I'm-m sorry," Sam whispered into his shoulder. He leaned back, but paused with his forehead on Dean's shoulder. His hands on Dean's arms. Dean's hands on Sam's. Locked.

When they finally did raise their heads, the look on Sam's face was one Dean easily recognized. A mirror image of his own and he felt relieved to see it. Relieved that his brother still _felt_. That somewhere, beneath the facades and walls, his brother was still there.

Different.

Bruised, but still breathing, and as long as he did everything could be fixed. So Dean smiled. Not sadly, and not for a second, but a brilliant smile that was easily picked up and mimicked by Sam.

Dean clapped his shoulder, leaned close to his ear and whispered. "Everythin's gonna be fine, Sammy."

And somewhere, somehow he believed him. Sam still had one person who would put everything on hold for him. Who would trust him despite what everybody else said. Unfolding the old picture, his gazed down at it. Dean's hands, still on his shoulders for comfort, and watching him like he used to.

The oldest, living Winchester spoke in a voice Sam only had vague recollections of from childhood. "I kept it because I knew one day you'd wanna think of her again," Clapping his shoulder, Dean pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. "And then you'd want _that_."

Sam looked up with a smile, tears still dripping from his eyes.

"And I trust you to tell me, _when_ you feel comfortable, how you really feel."

Sam sniffed and wiped the teardrops off the paper. "And in the meantime?" He laughed through it when another sob forced its way out.

Dean chuckled, and earned one from his brother as well. He wiped a drop away from his brother's cheek. "In the meantime we've got work to do."

Sam folded the picture the way it already had been, and put it in his shirt pocket. He knew it was corny, but he breathed better when it was near his heart.

As Dean settled the bill with the motel, Sam sat on his bed. Elbows, resting on his knees in the warm room. The door open and sunlight streaming in. He smiled softly and marveled at the orange, brown and red colors on the carpet and how they danced in the afternoon sun.

He tapped his breast pocket and got up with determined steps. His brother was already waiting outside. Car idling. Their breaths created little clouds with every exhale, and their smiles were tired, but true. Cars were going by down the main road. Someone's kid laughing somewhere, and all those things had always been there, Sam realized. The laughter and the sunlight, but he had been so caught up that he'd never noticed just how nice it all was; wives, kids, dogs; the space and time to stop for a second, and he knew it wasn't just the picture of Jessica in his pocket that reminded him of it.

No. It was Dean. _Fuck me_, he thought with a grin into the sunlight, it was always _Dean_.

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><p><em>Finito<em>.


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